


Lonely Eyes

by retrogve



Category: Borderlands (Video Games), Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe, Blood, Blood Kink, Body Horror, Dehumanization, Drug Use, Hedonism, Hospitals, Jack is obsessed with blood here, Knifeplay, Light Sadism, M/M, Masochism, Masturbation, Medical Experimentation, Medical Trauma, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Objectification, Physical Abuse, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Abuse, Surgery, Unhealthy Relationships, Verbal Abuse, and does some pretttty creepy shit, sorry rhysie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 19:47:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13958709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/retrogve/pseuds/retrogve
Summary: A critically injured Hyperion middle manager (Rhys) is brought to a surgical department deep within Helios specializing in questionable experimental procedures. With no memory or name, he begins anew as the pet project of an exceptionally handsome executive.





	1. feast for the eye

**Author's Note:**

> This work is purely a self-indulgent unhealthy-violent-rhack-medical-AU that I thought of while listening to 'Open Your Eyes' by STRFKR.

A nurse shuffles silently past the foot of  the bed and only one thought involuntarily crosses her mind.

_Death would have been a blessing._

She glances at her watch, marking down the time as she prepares the sedative. It's the final dose before the first of a _series_ of experimental surgeries.  He will undoubtedly have to be conscious for most of them.

He is barely alive, kept in this plane of existence by a substantial number of complex machines. They hum softly, sending a cocktail of fluids into the man's neck, arm, and chest. His face is pale, void of any color, as if his entire _existence_ was fading into the ivory sheets. 

His existence, although present, was a sliver of faint. Altogether void of a right arm, blood soaked bandages swathed the right side of his chest and the entire left side of his head. According to the scribbles on her clipboard, the wounds were less than eight hours old. No further information was recorded except hourly drug administrations and vitals.

This patient, like all those who came through this ward, was assigned a letter.

A man's _entire_ existence condensed into a single letter.

In this case: the letter 'R'. 

She empties the syringe into the IV, watching the exposed half of the man's face, silently willing him a quick ending.

\---

Sure, fluids were being replaced through the tubes connected to him but they did little to help his parched throat. His eyes were being difficult, uncooperative at best. There was something seriously wrong with his vision. There were people around him, moving, talking- but all he could register was a dull hum. 

As time passes, his vision becomes clearer and sounds become sharper. But so does the throbbing pain pulsing throughout his body.

His next breath hitches. A sharp pain stops him from inhaling any further.

It soon comes to his realization that despite his newfound consciousness, his body is quite unresponsive. Some part of the cocktail that is flowing freely through him was rendering him completely immobile.

 The figures moving around him suddenly disappear.

What seemed like hours pass. He tries desperately to get his mouth, lips, tongue- anything for that matter- to move. The only thing that he notices is the unbelievably intense pain getting worse with every breath.

\---

Finally light floods back into the room, a tall figure appears and quickly shuts the door.

His ears are ringing and the sound coming from his new visitor is faint and innaudible. 

The figure comes nearer, surveying the critically injured man as though he were a priceless impressionist painting. As the figure draws nearer, he can start to make out the features of his visitor. 

Brown hair, neatly swept to the side. A streak of grey. Arched eyebrows perched above a piercing mismatched gaze. But perplexingly atop it all, a flesh toned mask held in place by five metal clips. 

He's distracted by the appearance of the visitor that he doesn't notice the fingers running softly along the exposed half of his forehead. They dance gently over the cool, pale skin.

The fingers are eventually withdrawn, coated in red, and gently pressed against their owner's lips. He misses what few words are muttered and is left alone.

All alone.

\----

The eye was going to be first for three reasons. One, it was the riskiest, most painful procedure and Jack wanted to make sure the kid was strong enough before he poured time and money into him. Two, it was pretty much necessary to have before any other implant could be integrated. And finally- because Jack couldn't wait to get inside the head of his beautiful new project.

And what Handsome Jack wants, Handome Jack gets.

Being the CEO of a multi system mega-corporation made him one of the most powerful men in the galaxy.

 Jack's latest venture had been an brand new experimental cybernetics department. Military results were good but now he wanted something for himself. His own little pet. 

'R', as they referred to the patient, was a promising young manager who was the unfortunate victim of a 'freak' accident while walking near one of the many fuel banks on Helios.

An accident that left him without his left eye, right arm, and extensive shrapnel lesions on his neck and chest.

The kid would have undoubtedly died if he'd been sent to any other medical facility.

One glance, and delicious taste, and the project had been approved. The young man was going to be Jack's very own whether he knew it or not.

\---

Quite soon after the visitor left the room the pain became so intense that his body finally allowed his head to shift in an attempt to alleviate a little bit of the agony.

He tilts his head down shakily, straining to see what state his body was in. 

He begins to panic at the sight. The red. Crimson blooms through his white gauze bandages and is seeping slowly onto the sheets. Why? Well, it appeared that his right arm wasn't anywhere to be found. 

There isn't much else his body has the strength to do. He feels his head get heavy and he sinks back into the pillow as darkness mercifully swallows him.

\---

The blissful unconsciousness does not last long. This time he is given a stimulant. His eye shoots open to meet a blinding white light. His body is completely limp, undoubtedly medicated to do such, but his mind is very aware.

Someone is holding a pair of scissors over his head. He instinctively tries to move his arm but it stays unresponsive beside him. His chest is heaving, breathing panicidly as the scissors come closer to his face. 

He feels a slight tug and an entirely new wave of pain washes over him. The bandages shielding the left side of his face are gone, exposing the wounds to air. 

He cries out but the angels of death descend on him like vultures.

\---

Sixteen hours later, they're done. Eight bags of O negative blood later, they bandage his head once again.

He's finally given a sedative and drifts peacefully away from the hell that is the operating table.


	2. four little letters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick heads up: blood, knifeplay, and masochism below.

They don't _need_ you to be awake during the operations. They simply _want_ you to be.

It's an easy way of inflicting an intense psychological reminder of who you _owe_ your life to.

A reminder of who, quite literally, _owns_ you.

\---

Sleep should be an escape. But now, for the young man lying in sheets stained with his own blood, it would never be. 

His heavily sedated, drug addled brain spun the images of his recent ordeal into a freakish nightmare.

One moment there's the searing pain of a scalpel sinking into his temple and the next it's the overwhelming stench of cauterized flesh and hot metal.

He wants to wake up from it but they won't allow it- _not yet_. 

The ones who make it out of this place, even though they may have been mended on the outside, are utterly  _destroyed_  on the inside.

It's _exactly_ what they want.

\---

Jack hums softly to himself as he walks down a grey hallway. His fingers tap rhythmically near his font pocket, unable to contain his excitement. 

_His_ boy had made it. The report described the operation in detail, supplementing the description the surgeons had given to him prior.

It was a new kind of bio-implant. Completely integrated, effectively hard-wired into his brain. None of that half-assed temporary crap. The kid would have to  _pry_  that puppy out with a knife- and even then Jack had been assured that it would undoubtedly take some the patient's own brain with it.

The _best_ part was the direct link Jack would have with the kid.

He hungrily licks his lips, remembering the _intoxicating_ coppery scent and taste of the young man's blood, and opens the door.

His little experiment is still there. Despite having recently been changed, the bandages are still soaked with fresh,  _glorious_ blood. This time he appears to be asleep. 

_Mine. He's all mine._ Jack thinks with satisfaction as he once again surveys the exquisite scene before him.

Jack had been thinking incessantly about his _delicious_ little project all night. He'd even lost a few hours of sleep before finally deciding on what to call him. 

He sits down on the bed, marveling at how remarkable his pet's face is. It isn't often that someone is worthy enough to catch his eye. 

His gaze advances downwards to the pale, unmarred flesh of _his_ patient's only arm.

Jack runs a finger lightly in the shape of an 'R' on the young man's skin.

_Rhys-._

_Rhysie._

_Mmm, yes. That's settled._

Jack smiles. His finger traces a different letter now.

Jack wants to make sure his pet will alwaysremember just  _who_  saved him.

Memories fade. _Scars,_  he found, don't.

He produces a small micro-serrated pocketknife from his pant pocket. He is especially fond this one because he's found that the jagged blade causes significantly more scarring than the plain edge variety.

Jack goes to work, starting lightly, meticulously tracing out his four letters onto Rhys' forearm. Tiny beads of blood bloom and quickly turn into a warm slick.

The CEO finishes swiftly. He lifts the blood coated blade to his own mouth and carefully licks it clean- all while surveying his work with a satisfied gaze. His head tilts to the side, eyes narrowing at the heavenly taste, savoring the last bit which lingers on his lips. 

Rhys hasn't moved a bit. It's infuriating how _still_ he's remained. 

How _ungrateful_.

\---

He slowly becomes aware of the warmth next to him. It's liquid but it's- it's almost-  _pleasant?_   He breathes deeply for a moment before there is suddenly a shooting pain. Rhys cries out, his unbandaged eye snaps open, revealing the identity of his tormentor. 

He is met with the cunning grin of his former visitor and a very, very bloody arm in his grip. Rhys convulses from the affliction, trying feebly to wrench the limb from the older man's grasp.

"Ah- now that's no way of _thanking_ me." Jack chides, digging his fingers further into the gory mess.

All Rhys can manage is moan in agony and attempt to curl himself into the fetal position.

Blood is drooling, in rivulets, from Rhys' arm and down Jack's tattooed wrist.

"Thank.  _Me_." the CEO hisses. 

Between the sweat, the tears, and the blood, Rhys finally manages to emit two shaky, broken words.

"Th-th-thank y-you."

_Ah._

It's such a _beautiful_ sight. It takes every ounce last of restraint to let go of the younger man's arm. It falls limply to the bed, motionless, as Rhys sobs uncontrollably into his pillow. 

Jack stands abruptly, eyes glittering, leaving his unappreciative experiment alone to wallow in its suffering.

\---

Drops of blood mark the path back up to his suite. Locking the bathroom door, Jack runs the encrusted hand slowly through his dark hair as he slides slowly down the wall. 

He takes a deep breath and expels it with a satisfied sigh.

_So much to look forward to._

He licks his cracked lips before decisively clamping his teeth down on his bottom lip in frustration.

Jack shuts his eyes, head tilting back further. A thought culminates in his mind as he runs his palm atop the protuberance in his pants.

_Tomorrow_ \- tomorrow Rhysie's ECHO eye would be ready to come online.


	3. better?

There is a resounding buzzing in his head. It begins as a slow drone but quickly turns into an overwhelming sensation. 

One. Two. _Breathe_.

Rhys tries to relax. Moving is a mistake. His flesh is tender and the slightest shift in pressure is pure, unadulterated _agony_.

Lights dance in his blurred vision. Curiously, they're blue cubes right now which is _quite_ different from the usual white pinpricks of light. The cubes amble lazily, flickering nonchalantly from corner to corner.

They slowly begin to stack atop each other, growing into a cyan mass. Their color shifts suddenly from a dark blue to a vibrant a sky blue as they suddenly freeze in place.

The static mass takes up the entirety of his vision at this point but he doesn't mind at all. It's a rather _pleasant_ distraction.

Then the form shatters causing him to yell in pain from jolting in surprise.

\---

_> Synchronization complete. ECHO Eye Version 1.1 calibrated._

_> Proceed with startup? **Y** / **N**_

The text is displayed on his monitor for almost a full minute as Jack mills the moment over.

This is it.

History in the making.

He draws in a giddy breath and taps the ' **Y** ' key.

A bright blue interface opens. A plethora of menus and a command prompt are crammed into the screen.

The CEO double clicks an executable labeled  **holojack.exe** and waits for the program to load.

A few seconds later, the menus disappear and are replaced instead with a glowing, azure mass of cubes. Jack smiles, glancing at the ECHO watch on his right hand which is now glowing the exact same hue of blue. 

Small white text appears in the corner of his computer screen,

> _Program directives successfully synced across all devices._

His grin broadens.

 _Perfect_.

\---

Rhys awakens to the sounds of activity around him. He blinks, vision blurry and ringed in a blue glow. A nurse is beside him recording numbers displayed on the monitors, another is wheeling a tray of food into the room.

The smell of soup wafts gently toward him as his mouth waters uncontrollably. She smiles an angel's smile and gently props an additional pillow behind his head to help him sit up. He feels a little numb, undoubtedly being heavily medicated with _who-knows-what_ but at least he didn't feel like _dying_ every time he moved. The nurse arranges the lap tray for him and sets a silver spoon next to the steaming bowl of golden broth. 

It's as if everything is normal. Kindness, smiles, no more pain. Maybe all of the _stuff_ before- _maybe_ it was just some morbid nightmare concocted by his brain under the influence of painkillers.

But alas, as he lifts the utensil, he catches a glimpse of himself in the reflection. 

The spoon slips from between his shaky fingers. His ravenous appetite slips away just as quickly.

The entirety of the left side of his face is swollen and scarlet streaks lead away from the distended flesh around his left eye.

_M-my left eye?_

The eye that gazed back at him in the reflection for that split second was most certainly not-not  _his_.

It wasn't a soft brown like his right eye, instead it glowed a vivid blue. It _glowed_.

"-it's going to take a bit for you to get coordinated without your right arm and with your ECHO eye and all but don't worry sweetheart it will all-" the nurse's soothing voice floats over the buzzing in his ears.

She gently places the spoon back in his trembling left hand and gives him an encouraging nod before turning to leave. 

This was no nightmare. His forearm is wrapped in a bandage and if he were to unwrap it- he'd undoubtedly find his benefactor's artwork.

With the clatter of the spoon slipping from his grip again, Rhys is left alone. 

A heavy silence fills the room. It's as if the world around him has been put on mute. 

"It's not so bad, now is _it_?"

Rhys yelps, knocking his knees into the lap tray, sending a bowlful of scalding hot broth onto his chest.

The voice comes from the shadows of the room, now cackling at Rhys' misfortune. Rhys clenches his teeth, struggling to keep his breathing under control.

His vision begins to waver. The blue seeps from the edges of his vision and completely blankets his eyesight.

" _Shhh-_ " the voice purrs, this time the voice encircles him completely.

Suddenly the pain is dulled. Rhys collapses into his pillows, what little strength he has- _vanishes_.

The cyan veil recedes slowly to the perimeter of his vision. The same voice whispers now, oozing with pure delight,

"Better?"

Rhys is alone in the room. He knows it. But despite his better judgement, he manages a weak nod before slipping into unconsciousness.

_Much better._


	4. better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been going through some tough times in rl and really just need a creative outlet. Soooo thanks for reading and stuff- it makes my day that much better!

The night passes. The powerful and highly experimental anti-inflamitories work their magic and by morning Rhys' facial swelling is minimal. 

He's cleared by the supervising doctor to be moved from the private intensive care unit to a quiet, simple room.

For now.

\---

Jack wakes up to the sound of his alarm chirping incessently beside him. Bleary eyed, he hauls his exhausted body to the bathroom and studies his reflection in the mirror.

Some days it's better. Well, at least it seems that way. Deep down he knows a scar of this severity could never truly improve. 

Today was not a good day for it. The scar seemed especially textured, starkly pigmented against his pale skin. He follows its hideous, curved shape with his eyes before splashing his face with a handful of cold water. 

He expels a long sigh and briskly clicks the five silver clips of his mask into place. 

The CEO locks eyes with his reflection once again. 

 _Better,_ he thinks. Running his hand through his mess of dark brown hair, Jack turns away from the mirror and growls.

Mornings like these put him in a  _mood._

\---

He is free. Well, free of IVs and machines. This room is pleasantly furnished, well lit , and has a serene view of Pandora's ravaged moon. 

Rhys considers the door for a moment but he decides he's in no condition to explore. Plus it's probably locked. He is _almost_ used to the blue tint on the edges of his vision now and instead begins to _really_ register the odd weightlessness of the right side of his body. 

A part of him that's been there his whole life is- is _gone_.

Rhys folds his knees into his chest and wedges his back into the corner, unsure of who- or _what_ was going to come through that door.

He feels moisture welling up in his eyes, tears threatening to spill over. His eyes are watery- vision completely blurred- and for some stupid reason he really,  _really_ dosn't want to let that first tear roll down his cheek. Perhaps it was because it was one of the only things he still had an _inkling_ of control over.

_Crap._

Rhys feels the warmth of the first tear come trickling down his right cheek, along his chin, and eventually splattering softly on the thin material of his loose pants.

It's nearly impossible to stop tears once they start. Almost an hour later, he's asleep, head tilted against the cool wall. A faint, shiny trail is left on his ashen skin by the tears- only leading from his right eye.

\---

 _Incompetent_. _Inept_. _Inefficient_. 

Jack's _mood_ had deteriorated even further, plummeting to a cataclysmic low and he honestly feels  _this_  fucking close to killing someone. His eyes radiate pure fury and his jaw is set in an angry scowl. Even his gait conveys his rage.

He makes it back to his suite without killing anyone, _what a fucking miracle_ , and collapses onto his couch. Jack's eyes roll back as he shuts them.

 _Days_ _like_ _th_ -.

The ECHO watch on his wrist vibrates causing his eyes to flicker back open. 

 _Oh_ _Rhysie_ , his sweet little pet.

It was a reminder to go check in on his little project. He would. Well- he'd already lost his temper once with him- _yes_.

Shower first- Rhysie later.

\---

The sound of the keypad beeping and the click of the lock disengaging scares Rhys back to consciousness. He clutches his knees tighter with his solitary arm, eyes glued to the door.

 _ **He**_ walks in.

The man from before, the _one who-._ Rhys can't help but tremble as pinpricks of pain emanate from the flesh underneath the bandages on his arm. He instinctively tries to back further into the corner he is settled in.

 _No,_ he thinks, shaking his head, wisps of limp brown hair coming to rest against his pale forehead. He clamps his eyes shut.

His tormentor settles onto the bed next to Rhys' rigid, compact form. Jack tilts his head back against the wall, glancing lazily in Rhys' direction.

" _Relax kiddo_ , Jack hasn't got any real plans for you- _not yet_  at least" he assures with a tired chuckle, placing a firm hand on the younger man's shoulder. Jack's eyebrows furrow as he mutters,

"Seriously- _breathe_ or something."

Rhys doesn't dare. The hand on his shoulder feels like it weighs a ton, a concrete weight pinning him in place.

Rhys feels like a frightened rabbit, _frozen_ , unsure of what direction to run.

It dawns on him that, ultimately, he's got absolutely  _nowhere_ to go.

The weight on his shoulder suddenly dissapears.

Rhys opens his eyes, sneaking a furtive glance in his visitor's direction. His vision is now filtered in a hazy blue and he begins to feel the dull throbbing of a migraine in his temple. Instead of looking away, Rhys finds he's _unable_ to shift his gaze away from the pair of mismatched eyes. There's a weary smirk pasted on the man's face.

He wants to panic. But just like looking away, he finds that he quite _literally_ cannot. 

He can't blink, he can't move, he can't even _panic_.

Jack's ECHO watch is pulsing steadily. It's the very same shade of blue that encapsulates Rhys' vision.

"Pretty cool, _amiright?_ " Jack laughs, waving his left hand carelessly and Rhys can suddenly move again. The younger man shudders, taking in a shallow breath of air, trying desperately to dissolve into the corner walls he is already pressed against. He hadn't taken a breath since **_he_** came in. Rhys tries blinking away the shooting pain in his temple that's now travelling down his neck.

"Well-" Jack begins, clearing his throat, shifting closer to his _pathetic_ experiment.

"I'm sure _you_ -" he prods Rhys' chest with a finger before continuing,

"-have some questions?"

 ---

Rhys doesn't even know where to start.

_What happened? What did they do to his eye? Why **him**?_

Alas, all that eventually tumbles out of his mouth is a feeble "Why?".

"Why-? Why what? I'm sorry- did they damage your brain when they put that eyeball into you?" Jack quips, irritation in his voice.

Rhys can't make any more words come out. It's not like before, where he  _actually_ can't control his body- it's just-  _fear._ Fear of what will happen if he says the wrong word or asks the wrong question. It's the fear of the man sitting next to him.

Seconds pass and then Jack stands up abruptly, breaking the silence.

"Useless-" he mutters in a spiteful tone, tapping his watch forcefully. The device blinks red and Rhys feels his eyelids grow inexplicably heavy. He wants anything but to lose consciousness again. His thoughts are hazy and muddled. One word floats clearly in his thoughts as he drifts into a deep slumber.

His voice carries it in a whisper.

"Jack."


End file.
